


The Art of Manliness

by debl_ns



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Fic Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 01:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debl_ns/pseuds/debl_ns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after the events of 1.06.  Jackie Queen flirts with Gene. Sam's jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Manliness

**Author's Note:**

> Sam/Gene, tie!kink and/or podge!appreciation prompt. Includes some Gene-hair love. Written for the 2012 Armed Bastards Christmas exchange.

When Sam finished his pint and stood up, Gene gave him a surprised look followed by a belch and a refill of his glass. Sam was unable to tell him the truth about where he was going, so he fobbed Gene off by buying him a bottle and telling him a story about a couple of hours work, some dusty old files, and a clue he was missing. Gene called him a stupid bugger then cast an eye towards a game of darts which was already underway. Sam left him at the pub, and went straight to Kendals.

It was the last week before Christmas and it was a clear, cold night. Sam walked past the shops, their windows fashionably festive. There was a good reason for his visit to the department store and it was all because of Gene Hunt. Gene was being honoured at a Manchester and Salford Police dinner for his arrest of Reg Cole. He'd be getting patted on the back by Superintendent Rathbone, among others, and Sam wanted to buy him a tie.

There was definitely an art to picking out a proper necktie. Gene would be wearing a light grey suit and a white shirt, so he was looking for a tie with a solid colour, pattern or stripes. Preferably something dark-coloured.

Gene often wore striped ties, but this was a special occasion. Sam wanted a special tie.

“Might I suggest a woven tie, Sir?” The store assistant indicated a nearby display. “These are handmade of one hundred percent silk; the weave is of the highest quality. Made to last a lifetime.”

Sam reached for a solid-coloured tie. He held it up by the narrow end.

“I prefer the woven tie over the printed,” the assistant continued. “It tends to be made with more silk. It's heavier, more substantial--as you can see, it doesn't twist and turn--and it makes a bigger knot when tied. Very sophisticated.”

“I'll take this one,” Sam said.

“Good bold choice, Sir,” answered the assistant with a smile.

***

“What colour did you say this is?” Gene asked. He frowned. “Are you sure it's manly?”

“Eggplant,” Sam replied. He brought the wide end of Gene's tie round the front and over the narrow end, from right to left.

“I don't like eggplant. It's spongy.”

Sam brought the wide end up and through the loop. “A good thing, that. It absorbs whatever it's cooked with.” He brought the wide end down through the knot in front. “But you're wearing it, not eating it.” Sam used both of his hands to tighten the knot and draw it up to Gene's collar. His tie was perfect. “There.”

Gene fastened the buttons on his cuffs and tucked his dress shirt into his trousers. The tip of the tie came to the top of his belt buckle. Sam felt his chest tighten. Gene's belly. It was a part of him that Sam loved. Gene was larger than life; loud, blunt, aggressive, bold. Sam longed to run his hands over Gene's abdomen, and his arms moved to Gene's sides, sliding down and over until they came to rest on Gene's middle. He forced a finger beneath Gene's shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the strands of hair.

Gene chuckled in response. “You still want to mingle with Rathbone?

A smile tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth. He pulled his finger from the shirt and patted the same spot. “You can't miss the dinner, Gene.”

“Why not, eh?”

“I gave my word.”

Gene stood for a second or two in silence. He moved past Sam, reaching for his suit jacket. “Right. Let's go, you're making me feel like a right tit.”

***

Gene put both hands on the lectern and cleared his throat. In his light grey suit and eggplant tie, he looked smart. He was direct, quick-witted, competent. He spoke with strength about the circumstances of the hostage-taking at the Manchester Gazette, praised the bravery of his team, and of the hostages, and Sam was proud of him. They ate predictably unremarkable meals then Gene rose from his chair, said he needed another drink, and made for the bar.

“What a handsome tie!”

Sam recognised that voice. Jackie Queen. She'd done something to her hair, dyed it brunette. It was just brushing her shoulders, and drew attention to her gorgeous brown eyes. She smiled, and Sam saw that she was not simply pretty as he remembered, she was beautiful. She lowered her voice, but it appeared that she was still chatting about Gene's tie because she lifted her hand and touched it with her fingers. They were long and thin, her nails manicured and painted.

'She wants me, poor Bitch', Gene had said. He was standing there, holding his glass. The reporter was flirting with him, and he wasn't pushing her away. She leaned in closer, crossing one red spike-heeled foot over the other, and Gene's eyes moved over her face, the way they focused on Sam when the two of them were alone.

Sam narrowed his eyes. She was laughing now. It didn't take much working out. Women loved Gene's sense of humour, insults and all. Gene stepped closer to her, putting his hand on her arm. Sam bit his bottom lip. He could taste the jealousy, and he rolled it around on his tongue. It left an aftertaste like the whisky he'd drunk, filling him with a familiar, intense heat.

He wanted Gene.

Jackie slid her hand up the tie's length, stroking it with her fingertips.

Gene didn't want him.

Sam couldn't look at him. He was afraid that if he looked at Gene, his face would show too much. Too much of everything. Sam turned away for several minutes. When he looked back again, Gene was not looking at her but his eyes were searching Sam out. Sam could feel it long before they settled on his face. They were steady, as green as the North Sea after a storm. He grinned at Sam, emphasising his cheekbones, and, suddenly, Sam's mouth went dry.

Damn.

***

Sam held on to Gene's tie, and closed the bedsit’s door with a well-aimed kick and a bang. He yanked, and Gene followed him where he led. Sam pulled Gene towards him. “What the bloody hell were you doing?” he burst out. “You know she fancies you; you're not stupid!”

Gene raised his eyebrow, a surprised expression on his face. “What have you got me here for, Sam?”

“To talk. About Jackie Queen.”

“Jackie Queen. Bleeding hell.”

Sam jerked Gene forward again, grabbing his arm and digging in his fingers. “She's pretty.”

“Very,” Gene answered.

Sam frowned.

“Her eyes … they reminded me of you.”

Sam blinked, thrown off the track. “Oh,” he said. He released his hold on Gene's arm. Reminded me of you. The words and Gene's sincerity pushed all the right buttons. He shoved Gene against the door. Sam fingered the tie, stroking the fabric as the reporter had done.

“I'm not going to move,” Gene said softly.

“Shut up,” Sam murmured. He loosened the knot of the tie so he could slip it up and over Gene's head. Instead of pulling it completely off, he slid it inside Gene's mouth and tightened the knot.

Gene grunted, but he didn't spit it out. Sam hadn't expected that. Christ. He felt a coinciding tingle between his legs. Sam bit Gene's chin and Gene's tongue escaped from under the gag, flicking and teasing Sam's face. Sam groaned and gave Gene a clumsy kiss over the tie. He slid his own tongue over Gene's lips, but they were both frustrated by the silk in Gene's mouth, and Sam pulled it down so that it was hanging from Gene's neck.

Sam wrapped his fist around the necktie and gave it a determined tug. The momentum sent Gene crashing into his chest, and Sam stumbled, taking several steps backward. The back of his legs hit the bed, and, aided by his hold on the tie, he pulled Gene down with him.

Sam couldn't move.

He didn't want to.

“So, what do you want to do now?” Gene asked.

His hair swept his forehead, and if Sam had been able to he would have ruffled the long blond strands. And Gene would have hated it.

“I'm afraid I am fucked,” Sam admitted.

Gene lowered his head. He pressed a kiss to Sam's neck. “Sooner rather than later, Sam,” he answered, pushing his trousers to his knees.


End file.
